


The Fool Reversed - or Thirteen Elevator Rides to Floor Thirteen And How That Should Really Have Told Dean Something

by Andromalius



Series: Major Arcana Shorts - Exercises in Magic and Impropriety [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Bela might just trump him for fun, Bobby is a saint, Can Castiel speak English?, Cas has Issues, Cas should probably learn to talk, Cas's bad trenchcoat, Chuck just works here, Dean being kinda sweet, Dean is a Good Brother, Dean is also a jerk, Gabriel and Sammy get it on in the background, Gabriel's sexy sexy eyebrows, Humor, Language Barrier, M/M, Misunderstandings, My Hovercraft Is Full Of Eels, No offense meant to Lithuanians, Office AU, Pining, Romance, Sam Knows, Sam is a Good Brother, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam is also a bitch, Sam is claustrophobic, Sam knows everything, Slash, Slow Burn, brothers are dicks, dean is oblivious, if you think Zachariah is a bad boss, like at all, oh oops did he just climb out of the elevator?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromalius/pseuds/Andromalius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working as a temp sucks ass, but at least there's eye candy. And even though that eye-candy is an oblivious, stuck-up guy who doesn't speak a word of English, Dean Winchester is determined to make the most out of this one office perk. If only his little brother would stop looking so goddamn smug every time he brings it up! </p><p>Alternatively... how Dean spends thirteen elevator rides telling Sam just how hot Castiel is while Castiel is standing right there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first through fourth times, and the time Sam visited an Embasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheEternalForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEternalForever/gifts).



**The First Time. Early**

“ _Dude_.”

“…”

“ _Dude!_ ”

“…”

“Sammy!”

“What the hell, Dean?”

“Pay attention, dammit!”

Sam Winchester rubbed mutinously at the back of his head. It was far far too early for this. “ _What?_ ”

Dean grinned at him and made the most oh-god-he’s-not-serious-why unsubtle nod towards the only other person in the elevator. Then his oh-so-mature older brother mouthed something. It might have been _oh.my.god_ or it might have been _oh.so.hot_ , Sam’s lip-reading skills seemed to suffer at 6am in the morning.

Why _had_ he let Dean talk him into switching shifts so they could drive in to work together? The bus was perfectly adequate. He could read the news on the bus. He could work on his studies on the bus. He could _sleep_ on the bus. He could be getting more sleep _squared_ and instead he was in the world’s slowest elevator at _6am_ watching his idiot brother make faces at him.

Because he knew that Dean would only get more ridiculous if he didn’t at least look, Sam expended the bare minimum of energy and tilted his head to the right to look more closely at the other Poor Sod Who Is Up Too Early. Dark hair, blue eyes, a stony expression that seemed to indicate Sam was not alone in being displeased about the hour. A really _awful_ overcoat. No seriously, who even wore things like that?

Apparently pleased that Sam had turned his head that extra inch or so and looked at the object of his attention, Dean grinned again and offered the Poor Sod In the Bad Coat a slow and again painfully unsubtle look that implied not only that mental undressing was going on, but also that mental bedsprings were being sprung and god _it was too damn early for this_.

“Hey there,” Dean said, eyebrows doing their eyebrow thing while Sam thought hard about trying to melt through the floor of the elevator. “Rough weekend?”

Silence stretched out. Poor Sod in the Bad Coat stared at the door of the elevator. His face didn’t even twitch, which was rather impressive really. Sam wondered if he could do a paper on the relative unmeltability of elevator floors as compared to the level of awkwardness on the inside.

“I went fishing at this place I know near the lake,” Dean continued, apparently unshaken. “It’s nice to get away from the bustle sometimes, y’know?”

Again. Silence. Fish and weekends were added to the uncomfortable number of things the people in this elevator were not talking about.

“Unless you’re a bustle kind of guy – which I get. I’m a fan of city streets too. Everything to its own place, if you ask me.”

Sod in the Bad Coat did not point out that he _hadn’t_ asked Dean. Neither did Sam. Neither did the elevator. What the elevator _did_ do was ding to a stop at level 13 and left Sod in the Bad Coat off still in complete and utter silence.

Dean cursed as the lift doors closed again. “ _Dammit_.”

Sam said nothing. It was far too early to be drawn into a conversation about his brother’s sex life.

 

**The Same Day. Later, but still too early for this.**

“Heya Sammy.” Dean slung himself heavily over the back of Sam’s chair and flipped his keyboard over absently. “Ready for lunch?”

I love my brother, Sam told himself. He’s a decent, hard-working man who had to deal with too much too young and never got to mature properly because of it. I really am very very fond of him. I do _not_ want to staple his hand to his forehead. “It’s _eleven_ , Dean.”

“We ate breakfast at five-thirty, dude. I’m hungry.”

“My lunch isn’t until 11:45.” Sam turned his keyboard the right way up, removed his mouse from his brother’s grip and coloured another row on the spreadsheet he was working on. Puce, lime green, the yellow that wasn’t bright yellow and red.

“So?”

“Zach doesn’t like us taking breaks early, Dean.” Dean knew this. Sam knew that Dean knew this. Dean knew that Sam knew that Dean knew this. They’d been in this company for two weeks and five days and _already_ Dean knew every possible way to get on Sam’s nerves. “Go back to your pod.”

“What Zach doesn’t find out, he won’t know.”

“Dean…” Sam turned his chair around and pressed both palms over his eyes very hard.  “Do we have to have the ‘you are not a secret agent’ conversation again?”

“Maybe you just think I’m not because I’m _that good_.”

They looked at each other for a few beats. Chuck wandered by with his ‘I Love Lucy’ coffee mug and gave them an indecipherably nervous look. Sam, having now been awake long enough to start deciphering the indecipherable, swung back to his work. “Go back to work, Dean.”

“But Sammy, I figured out why hot dude in the elevator wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Uh huh?” Sam clicked another cell. Puce. “Apart from ‘he just didn’t have enough fashion sense to be gay’?”

“Dude. _Not_ cool. Total stereotyping and discrimination right there.” Dean tugged up Chuck’s now-empty chair and straddled it, leaning forwards to flick Sam’s ear and missing (of course. Sam had not, after all, been Dean Winchester’s brother for twenty-two years for nothing.) “Besides, what the hell was wrong with what he was wearing? He looked all rumpled-gentleman-spy. It was hot.”

“Dean. I’m working.”

“Besides,” Dean leaned in and stuck his head between Sam and his computer screen. “I figured it out. He got off at floor thirteen. You remember what’s on floor thirteen?”

“The Lithuanian Embasy Offices?” Sam stopped and frowned. “ _Dean_.”

“Exactly! The only way Sexy Rumpled Guy could have ignored a hot piece of ass like mine is if he didn’t have the faintest idea what I was saying.” There was a slight pause as Dean built towards what was obviously the dramatic crux of his explanation. “He doesn’t speak English, Sammy!”

It crossed Sam’s mind to point out – politely – that one does not usually work in an embassy in the middle of a busy city in the United States without having a grasp of the language, but he did not. He had several reasons for this. One – he’d learned through long experience that once Dean had an idea in his head he was exceptionally hard to talk out of it. Two – he was tired and grumpy and he’d gotten up at _six_ so he was feeling uncharitable. Three – it was at this particular moment that they were interrupted by the source of Chuck’s disappearance.

“Dean. Samuel. How lovely to see that you are making yourselves so much at home in my team. I do like to see my staff feeling comfortable.”

Dean banged his head against the desk once, replacing a cell of data with _y76y76yyu_. “Ms Talbot.”

Sam turned in his char and gave their manager his very best innocent look. “We’re just getting back to it, Ms Talbot. Dean had a question about the rec in the x-drive. I thought I’d talk him through what I understood about it.”

“So long as the ‘x’ drive does not become the ‘triple x’ drive, Samuel.” Bela Talbot stared at Dean as he grumbled his way back over to his seat and then stared at Sam for good measure. She smirked while doing it, so he didn’t _think_ she was particularly upset. But then again he’d gotten the impression that no one was ever quite certain when Ms Talbot was feeling what. “Do try not to let your brother’s thinking appendage distract you from your work too often, Samuel.”

“Um yes. Right,” he said, and reminded himself yet again as Ms Talbot sashayed off to terrify another of her minions that he really did – he _really did_ love his brother.

 

**The Second Time**

“Dude – check out his tie. I told you – gentleman spy _chic_.”

“Dean, what the fuck?”

“No, seriously. That there is _super_ hot.”

“Dean…” a desperately lowered voice. “He’s standing _right there_. The elevator is _not that big_. He can _hear_ you.”

“So? He can’t understand me and if I don’t whisper like you’re doing – not very subtle, little brother – he won’t know we’re talking about him. Cut it out. He’s going to think you’re weird and then I’ll be weird by association.”

“Yes, because _I’m_ the weird one.”

“Always have been, always will be.” Dean grabbed for him and the rest of the ride to level thirteen was occupied with Sam wriggling furiously away from his brother’s attempts to give him a noogie. Said attempts were briefly halted so that Dean could watch Sod in the Bad Coat and Weird Tie walk out of the elevator. _Bro, his hips are so gay_.

In defense of Dean’s theory, Sod in the Bad Coat seems as little perturbed by Dean’s overt appreciation of his tie as he was by the unfortunate fishing and weekending segues of the day before. Sam thought this was hardly conclusive. Dean smirked victoriously all the way to his desk and stole Chuck’s mug.

 

**The Third Time**

“Maybe I could learn Lithuanian.”

Sam glanced up from his cellphone to see that Dean was staring with unnerving intensity at SBC. He had to assume that they weren’t bothering the man too much or he could very easily have taken the stairs, or a different lift. So far they were all following the same routine – Dean parked his precious baby in the carpark. Sam tried not to spill their coffee all over his lap as he got out. They waved at Bobby, the security guard, who arrived just before they did and was always busy making sure no one except the big bosses had parked their cars overnight. They took the lift at around 6:04 am. The lift stopped at the first floor. SBC got in. He moved to stand near the back. He said nothing. Dean stared unabashedly at him. Sam pretended he wasn’t there. He’d perfected that really well over his life. He liked to think of it as a super power. One day he would be able to convince Dean he wasn’t there as well and he wouldn’t be dragged into these ridiculous things.

“Lithuanian.”

“Yeah – don’t sound so dubious, Sammy boy. I could learn a language.”

“Sure.” Sam glanced at their companion and was relieved to see that he was still staring at the doors of the lift as though they might open suddenly and reveal unknown secrets of the universe. “Sure you could, but why? And who would teach you?”

“I could learn it online. How hard could it be to learn ‘Hello’?”

“Don’t you mean, “Please go out with me because I am ridiculously obsessed with you?”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“But seriously.” Dean crossed his legs and gave the ceiling his thoughtful look. “I could learn how to say something, right?”

“What if you try to say ‘wanna come back to my place’ and instead say ‘your mother knits reindeer sweaters’?”

“What?”

Sam noted SBC’s face twitch ever so slightly. Aha. “It could happen.”

“You’re a dork, Sammy.” But the contemplative look passed from Dean’s face and he grinned and ogled SBC as he left the lift.  

 

**The Fourth Time**

“Dear god, Sammy, he’s even hotter with the coat off.”

“Well _duh_.”

“Look.”

“No.”

“Look, Sammy.”

“Dean, I’m trying to finish this e-mail. It’s important.”

“We spend exactly one minute and fifty-three seconds with this guy every day, Sam. You can answer the e-mail later. His sexy, sexy chest may not be there later. _Look_ goddammit.”

“Sexy sexy chest?” Sam looked up and Dean crowed in triumph.

“See?”

“Yes, Dean. Very nice.”

“Sound a bit more enthusiastic or I’ll tell Hot Elevator Guy about your crush on Ricky Martin.”

“I was _fifteen_.”

“Doesn’t make it any less shameful, Sammy boy.”

“Fine. Your elevator boyfriend has a lovely chest. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.”

 

**The Time Sam Went to An Embassy**

The next day was the weekend. After that, their shift changed to an eight-o’clock start for a week and Dean spent the whole week moaning about missing his elevator hottie. Sam spent the whole week trying to explain to Chuck why his coffee cup was appearing in such strange places and hitting his brother for being a hyperactive jerk when he was depressed.

On the seventh day, Sam went to level thirteen on his second break and hovered uncertainly around the reception until a (really really _really_ hot) gentleman approached and eyebrowed him into submission.

“I’m – uh – looking for a … for someone who works here…” Sam hesitated, wondered if he really loved his brother this much and nearly decided that no – no he did not, this was exactly what Dean deserved for stealing both Jerry McIntoch and Marsha Grady from him in highschool when Sexy Eyebrows made a ‘ _go on_ ’ nod and he realised the only way to get out of this without appearing to be a total loon was to forge straight ahead. “He’s – sort of this high…” he indicated. “Dark hair, blue eyes, a tan coat and a kind of crumpled look to him?”

“Castiel.”

“Is it?” They blinked at each other. “Oh. Right. Yes. Um – can I speak to him?”

“Are you the elevator man?”

“The what?”

“The man in the elevator who has been harassing him?” Sexy Eyebrows lowered his sexy voice to a not-so-sexy-and-really-rather-intimidating pitch.

“Uh – no?” Sam was not proud of how his voice squeaked uncertainly. “I mean – sort of? I mean… uh… that’s my brother, you seen and…”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Sexy Eyebrows smiled. “That’s all right then. So long as _you_ aren’t here to hit on Castiel.”

“Me? No! I mean. No. Not that – I mean I’m sure he’s very nice and…”

“I’ll get him for you.”

Sam let out a breath. “Thanks.”

“Not at all.” Sexy Eyebrows winked and walked off, giving Sam ample time to appreciate his _excellent_ taste in clothes. Yes. That was what he was looking at. Clothes. Which were not ugly crumpled tan coats. At all.

“Sam.”

He jumped and then tried to make it look like he was stretching. How on earth had he not noticed SBC (or Castiel, but what the hell kind of name was that? It didn’t sound eastern European at all) coming up beside him? He had not been staring after Sexy Eyebrows! He had not been metaphorically drooling! He had not started relegating people to complicated descriptors in his head! “Yes? Um! Hello!” This was not how he had planned for this to go, and that – at least – was the truth.

“Gabriel said that you wished to speak with me.”

Castiel’s voice was deep and had soft edges, not heavily accented but a little deliberate, as though he was considering what he had to say very thoroughly before he said it. For a wild moment Sam wondered if Castiel had still been considering his answer to Dean’s first question while Dean moved on to his third that first day in the elevator.

“I did, thanks for coming to talk to me.”

“It was no trouble. Would you care to step into one of the meeting rooms or will this be brief?”

“Oh, it won’t take long. Look – was Dean really harassing you? Your friend – Gabriel?” Sam waited eagerly for the nod and then smiled to himself. Suck on that, Dean. I learned my guy’s name in ten minutes. “Yes, well, he said that we’d been bothering you and I wanted to apologise for my brother if that’s the case. He really wouldn’t have kept on about it if he’d had any idea you could understand him.”

“I do not understand why he would think I could not.” Castiel tilted his head to one side as though he was considering a very difficult puzzle. “It is an odd conclusion to jump to.”

“It made sense to him at the time, I guess. Since you haven’t exactly said anything to change his mind he’s just been running with it – care to explain why you’ve let him make a fool of himself?”

Castiel frowned and Sam could pick out the faint hint of a flush on the other man’s cheeks. “It was a pleasant change for there to be no filter. I find I learn more about a person if they do not know I am listening.”

“That’s not cool and a little creepy, dude.”

“I am aware. But your brother is refreshingly blunt.” The blush deepened.

“You _like_ him.” This came as more of a surprise than it should have. But then again, Castiel had god’s best carved _why-are-you-bothering-me_ face, and _damn_ it, Sam shouldn’t be expected to try to read any deeper than that at six in the morning! “You like my brother. Who has been hitting on you without realising you understand he’s hitting on you.”

Castiel said nothing. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Look, Castiel…” he sighed. “Okay. We’re going to be back on the early shift next week so my brother will be back in your face. He’s been moaning about missing out on seeing you every morning. I can’t make you talk to him and god knows I can’t stop him from talking to you. So…” Part of Sam wanted to tell Mr Castiel that he was a good and loving little brother who would protect his older brother’s fragile feelings from the inevitable fallout that would culminate from a misunderstanding of this magnitude. Part of Sam found the whole situation oddly hilarious. “So – you’ll tell him eventually, right? Once you’ve figured this…” he gestured vaguely at the whole white-shirted-blue-tied-neat-shoes person in front of him. “Out.”

“Probably.”

“Good. Well. Do that.”

“You will not be telling him yourself, then?”

Sam hesitated. Frowned. Thought of the fact that this would win him the prank war forever. Grinned. “No.”

“Very well. I will see you in the elevator.”

“See you then.” Sam gave a cocky little wave and hurried back to his offices only three minutes late. Zach snarled and fumed and made incredibly passive aggressive remarks, but Chuck had his coffee cup and Ms Talbot was nowhere to be seen so Sam counted himself lucky. In the background Meg was screaming at Ruby for moving her office chair and Ash was staring at Dean’s computed with a sort of awed respect which Sam suspected had something to do with the number of viruses his brother had already managed to collect.

Life was not that bad, Sam thought as he changed a cell to not-the-bright-yellow and thought about Gabriel and his sexy sexy eyebrows.


	2. The Fourth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is a little too eager to get into work early and Sam is tired, vengeful and grumpy. I'm not sure Castiel is prepared for overly-energetic Dean this early in the morning.

It was getting a little worrying how often Sam was having to remind himself that he did, in fact, love his brother. A really _good_ little brother wouldn’t have to chant ‘ _he’s family, he’s family, he’s family’_ over and over in his head to keep himself from punching said older brother in the face.

Then again, it was _five-thirty in the morning_. And _they were waiting in a deserted carpark._ At their _office building._

The morning’s conversation had gone something like this.

Sam had been dreaming of holidays in exotic locales and nothing at all about Mr Sexy Eyebrows and Smart Suits from the previous week. It had been a very pleasant dream. He’d _earned_ that dream. He’d done all of his extra study for the next semester. He had been working hard on the spreadsheets at work. He hadn’t upset Ms Talbot once even though he’d been sorely tempted when she confiscated his i-pod. He’d _earned_ his eight hours of sleep, dammit.

Therefore he was less than pleased when he was wakened by a rough hand shaking his shoulder. He swatted hard at the person in question, presuming of course that he was being attacked by some inept invader because why would a brother who claimed to love him _do_ something like that??

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

“Mrg-phwa?”

“Up up up – early bird gets the tortilla and yo’ve got five minutes before I dump your sorry butt and get out of here.”

Sam opened one eye and looked at his fully-dressed and over-eager brother. “Wha? Wh’time’sit?”

“Quarter to five.”

“ _Five?_ ” 

Dean grinned. “C’mon, Sam, up an’ at ‘em!”

Glaring was doing absolutely nothing to budge Dean, so Sam opened his other eye so as to redouble his efforts. “Why are you awake? We have another forty-five minutes of sleep left!”

“We gotta get to the office sharpish, Sammy. Might be heavy traffic this time of the week.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Dean disappeared. Came back with a glass of water. Tossed it at him. “Get your ass in gear, dude. I’m not going to be late because you’re counting sheep.”

So here they were. In the car park. Excruciatingly early. Sam had been able to figure out why Dean was in such a rush ( _he did not do detective work well in the morning, okay?_ ) and no longer felt even slightly bad about letting Dean believe that Castiel didn’t understand English.

“There’s Bobby,” Dean said chirpily. He got out of the car and meandered over to the security guard with a ridiculously good-natured _Hello Bobby!_ That seemed to startle Bobby as much as it did Sam. Sam  dragged himself out of the car, sipping slowly at his coffee, and followed – blinking a little as he caught the tail-end of what looked like a weapon (possibly a gun?) being stuffed back into Bobby’s pocket.

Odd. Policing parked cars and the front of a quiet office building didn’t seem dangerous enough to require that kind of weaponry.

Sam drank both cups of coffee in silent revenge as Dean chatted to Bobby about cars and how when they’d banked enough funds to get Sammy straight through college, he was going to start saving to open up a garage of his own. It was a strangely normal conversation considering the fact that they looked like arms dealers discussing the fine points of a particularly difficult deal. Sam was beginning to wonder if Dean would end up missing his oh-so-important elevator ride after all when he heard the unmistakable sound of a cellphone alarm go off, and Dean slapped his phone, waved to Bobby and stalked purposefully towards the lift.

God save them, he was practically vibrating with excitement. _Why. Why did the universe want to punish him. He was a good person. He worked hard and studied hard and he even managed to like Dean most of the time even when he was being a jerk. He did not deserve this._

The lift doors opened and Castiel walked in as per usual, stepped to the back and face outwards with no expression. Sam thought perhaps his cheeks were a little flushed.

“I have _missed_ this guy,” Dean said fervently. “I really love his hair – do you think he works to get it looking casual and messy like that or is it natural? Dude?”

“Don’t drag me into your love affair, Dean.”

“You’re just jealous because Hot Elevator Guy likes me better.”

“Whatever helps you sleep well at night.”

Dean snorted and gave Castiel a very appreciative look that trekked from his hair to his shoes and took a scenic route back up. Sam hid behind his coffee cup and wished he was dead for the first time since highschool.

“I bet _he’d_ help me sleep at night.”

Oh god. Sam pressed his face into his hands and pretended not to exist. Dean seemed to take this as his cue to discuss things with Castiel directly and cut out the middle man.

“Hey there, hot elevator guy. You look like you spend too much time not smiling. I’d like to see you smile. I bet it would be just as gorgeous as the rest of you. I know that probably sounds like the cheesiest line ever, but hey – I’m a man who likes to stick to the classics. Tell a fellow (or a lady) what you like, be frank, and wink.” He winked. Sam knew he winked. Sam could tell when Dean was winking even with his eyes closed.

The elevator stopped. Castiel moved. The elevator doors closed on Dean calling after him “Have a fantastic day, dude!” It was some fresh sort of hell that not even junior league baseball practice could have prepared Sam for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was initially intended to be a series of short, disconnected snippets of conversation culminating in Castiel saying something funny. As you can see it went in a direction I wasn't expecting. I'm actually getting a bit attached to this universe and the way the characters are fitting into it. I am considering writing some missing scenes once the main plot has run its course. Let me know if there's something you'd like to see! This was meant to be a much longer chapter but after spending way too much time struggling with my laptop I'm all out of energy. Next time - the lift keeps breaking down, is Sexy Eyebrows to blame? Why DOES Dean steal Chuck's I Love Lucy mug? Will Meg and Ruby's feud spiral out of all control? Just who IS Bobby anyway? Why is Castiel in a t-shirt? 
> 
> On an unrelated note, the trailer for our show is out! You should be able to find a link on our twitter, so have a look and do not blame us for Sam's wig, it was the best we could do with our limited time and resources.


	3. The Sixth and Seventh Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is kind of adorably evil, Sam has developed a caffeine addiction, Castiel's name is not Darius.

 

Sam looked at his brother. Dean looked back. There was a long pause of silence between the basement floor and the ground floor. Next to Dean, every button on the lift controls from ground to level 12 was lit up. It was like a sadistic, evil Christmas tree, which apparently made Dean some sort of maniacal Christmas Elf, bringing terror and trouble wherever he went.

Ding.

The door opened and Castiel walked into the lift, moved to the back and stood there silently. Dean made a noise that sounded like he thought he’d been shot and for once Sam could admit to understanding what the fuss was about. Apparently _Thursday_ was Casual Friday at the Lithuanian Embassy. Mr Tan Overcoat Guy was wearing a very tight black t-shirt and even tighter jeans. And tatty red sneakers.

How subtle, Sam thought, and sipped his extra-extra-extra strength vanilla latte. He’d discovered he had less homicidal thoughts the higher his caffeine intake was at this time of the day, and considering the fact that he would (having made several procs and cons lists on the matter) overall rather like to keep his brother around, he’d adapted his coffee habits accordingly.

“Holy hell in a handbasket of rattlesnakes,” Dean breathed – barely seeming to register the next officious ding as the doors opened on the first floor. “Dude. I’d like to eat you a’la mode.”

Castiel looked at the doors. Sam looked at his coffee. The elevator hummed gently to the second floor and let everyone inside know that the doors were opening – then closing again.

“I hate you, Dean,” Sam said evenly.

“Shut up, Sammy. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“If you start singing Captain Hammer’s song, I will throw my coffee at you.”

“Hot Elevator Guy might like it!”

“I will aim for your crotch.”

“Bitch.” Dean gave him a wounded look, then turned his attention back to Castiel, that _expression_ on his face. That _terrifying_ half-open grin with his tongue-already-in-cheek as he was _obviously_ preparing for another _awful awful_ joke and how was it that it was now ten times worse than it was when Sam thought Castiel didn’t understand either of them? “I can’t keep just calling you _Hot Elevator Guy_ , dude. Descriptive though it is. How about I guess some names and you help me out, here?”

“I’m not Sebastien.”

“That was a freakishly fast leap to the Little Mermaid, Sammy boy. Are you sure you’re not an eight-year-old girl?”

“So long as we’re clear. No ‘Kiss The Girl’.”

Dean ignored him as the lift swept gently by the fifth floor. “I researched!” he said, with a smug grin. “Okay – Adomas? Alfredas? Albertas?”

Sam was not a praying man, but he considered seriously the idea of converting. He wasn’t sure which religion he’d convert to, but it would be one where reading names from another country at someone in an attempt to guess who they were _would not be allowed_. It would be _like working on the Sabbath or eating cows._

Ding.

“Antanas? Gimme something here, man. A face or _something!”_

Ding.

“I don’t even know how you’d pronounce this one.”

Ding.

“Azu-Azuli-Azuolas?”

Ding.

“Benjaminas? No offence dude, but some of these names are kinda like English ones with ‘inas’ on the end.”

Ding.

“You don’t look like a Darius.”

Ding.

“You look really _really_ good in that t-shirt.”

Ding.

“Erikas?”

Ding. Castiel walked steadily out of the elevator.

“We’ll go through F-Z next time, Hot Elevator Guy!” Dean called after him, then jabbed all the rest of the buttons on the elevator in punctuated frustration.

Ding.

“I’m going to shave your head while you sleep.”

“I bet I’d look awesome bald.”

 

**The Seventh Time (or not quite)**

The next day Castiel was not in the lift. Dean went up and down to the ground floor twice, just in case they’d been early. If it weren’t for the genuinely upset expression carefully hidden on his brother’s face, Sam would have taken this opportunity to point out how _unmitigatedly creepy it was to shout names at people in an enclosed space_.

As it was he said nothing, because he was practically a saint.

Dean said nothing as well, stole Chuck’s mug and disappeared to the break-room with it for at least five minutes longer than his allotted break time.

 

**A/N - So sorry for the delay! I've had a hectic holidays. I promise that I have a much better idea of where this is ultimately going now, AND that Castiel has a slightly better than perhaps perceived reason for his prolonged silence.**

**To look forwards to in future updates: the lift jam, what the hell is up with Bobby, Gabriel chatting Sam up over an intercom, fights over chairs, fights over pay, fights over holidays, BAMF Castiel, even-more-frustrated Sam. I hope you're still enjoying!!**


	4. The Sneakiness of Gabriel from the Lithuanian Embassy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ruby and Meg feud, Dean is depressed, Castiel is absent and Sam and Gabriel may be plotting together accidentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay my friends - it's been a busy few weeks at work and I lost all energy. However I have a very good idea of where this is going now so that's a definite plus!! :) Thank you all for your comments and kudos - I am hoping to write a companion to this from Castiel's point of view so let me know if you'd be interested in reading that!

It took thee days for Sam to become legitimately concerned for Dean. It’s not that he wasn’t obviously worried about the sudden and rather bizarre attachment his brother had formed for a man he’d only ever seen for just over a minute at a time in an elevator and who had never actually talked to him. In fact this fact had been deeply concerning until the fifth time Dean had thrown a peanut at his face and said _Stop mothering me, Aunty Em, I’m a grown-ass man_. After that, Sam had given up on trying to avert the trainwreck in the making. It was possible to lead Dean to the fountain of Practical and Logical thinking but no drought in the world was going to force him to open his stupid stubborn mouth and actually drink. Over twenty years of experience as the younger and wiser brother had taught Sam that.

However after three days of dealing with Cranky Dean driving too fast, braking too hard and living almost entirely off the cafeteria’s truly awful banoffi pie, Sam could be man enough to admit that his big brother had a problem.

Perhaps that was why he was once more in the reception of the Lithuanian Embassy looking at Mr Gabriel’s shiny red tie.

“Samuel.”

“Sam, actually.”

“I can’t say it’s not a pleasure to see you again,” Mr Gabriel twitched his eyebrows and smirked and Sam wasn’t even sure why. Sam wasn’t sure _why_ this guy was smirking at him because he might have temporarily forgotten why he was in this room to begin with. Dear god they should use that eyebrow-twitch as a weapon of mass destruction of trains of thought. “Because it is. A pleasure. However, we’re not completely sure how to explain to our bosses why we Lithuanians keep having visits from good-looking giants from a few floors up. And since my bosses don’t like me wasting company time perhaps you could explain quickly and to the point before they make me evict you.”

Eyebrows twitched again but Sam was a genius, dammit, and was not going to go down so easily. “We talked last time about your friend Castiel…”

“ _Hardly_ a friend, Samuel. He’s more of a slightly-annoying associate – or a pesky cousin. It would be inconvenient if he was discombobulated, of course. I hope your brother hasn’t been doing any discombobulating in his clumsy attempts at elevator wooing 101.”

Gabriel said ‘Samuel’ as though his name was nothing more than a vehicle for making exaggerated and highly distracting shapes with his mouth. Sam could not be sure that was on purpose but it was swiftly derailing the Help Dean With His Stubborn Elevator Boyfriend train off the main line and towards Dear Got Sexy Eyebrows Guy Is Hot junction. “No – well, no more than usual, but Mr Castiel has stopped showing up and it’s kind of throwing my brother off and…”

“He’s not happy taking no for an answer?”

“He hasn’t _had_ no as an answer. Castiel doesn’t say _anything_ to him and now stops showing up at all. He’d be fine if he was _told_ no, but how’s he supposed to get over your – pesky cousin – if he doesn’t know if he’s done something wrong?”

There was a still moment after Sam stopped speaking. Mr Gabriel Sexy Eyebrows Too Good For You looked at him intently, and Sam got the feeling that he would have a happier, more productive day if he didn’t know what was going on behind that particular look.

“Thank you for your concern,” Mr Gabriel said softly, his smile only very faint now but his eyes bright and terrifying. “We will take all due pains to investigate. Have a nice day, Mr Winchester.”

“You too,” Sam said, not sure what had happened or who had won, but knowing a dismissal when he heard one. “Thanks for your time.”

He went back to the lift and took the six floors up to their office level. Back at his desk he clocked back into the time-sheet and opened the latest spreadsheet instructions from Zach in the e-mail titled **UPDATE: Process changes to Preliminary Rec Maintenance – IMPORTANT!**

There was a squeak of wheels and Sam saw Chuck’s mug disappear somewhere mysterious out of the corner of his eye. “Dude, I hate this job.”

Sam frowned a little, scrolling through the five or six pages of screenshots and fig labels and overly-complex descriptions of the extra super easy job they were currently doing. “Is this saying what I think it’s saying?”

Dean leaned slowly forwards next to him and faceplanted into Chuck’s desk, his voice slightly muffled. “If you think it’s saying that instead of changing the returned funds inbound cells to Puce and the outgoing funds returned cells to not-the-bright yellow we now change the returned funds to not-the-bright yellow and the outgoing to puce, then yes.”

“That makes literally zero sense.”

“You’re telling me. Meg said that five times while eating a muffin very angrily. I think she’s still pissed at Ruby over the chair thing.”

“There are at least five people in this team who are not going to remember this information. It’s going to create absolute chaos. There’s _no point for this change_.”

Dean banged his head against the desk once. “I know. Did you get to the part where everything has to be changed from arial 12pt bold to calibri 10pt italics?”

“ _Why?_ ”

“According to Zach – corporate style formatting guides.”

Sam let out a long – heavy sigh. “I hate this job.”

“Me too.”

They both turned their heads to watch as Ruby let out a wild shriek of _My pen!!_ from two pods across the room.

“Huh.”

“Son of a bitch, I had two days in the betting pool.”

“There was a betting pool on how long it would take for Ruby to notice that Meg replaced her Darth Vader bobblehead pen with a crappy blue biro from stationery?”

“What else are we gonna do in this place?”

This made sense. Sam frowned, nodded, and coloured a cell puce. Thought for a second, went back, coloured it not-the-bright yellow. Sighed. “Can we go out for lunch today? I don’t think I can deal with the tension of the cafeteria queue.”

“You mean the ten minute reshuffle so that Meg can stand behind Ruby and critique her clothing choices while Ruby complains to Chuck about Meg eating meat?”

“How did we end up working in a highschool again?”

There was another shriek and Dean winced. “Yeah – let’s go out for lunch. I gotta get back to it, Sammy. See you at twelve.”

Sam nodded, frowning at the practically non-existent difference between Arial and Calibri fonts, and forgot all about his conversation with Sexy Eyebrows Gabriel from the Lithuanian Embassy.

It was later that he remembered. About the moment that the elevator stopped at level 13 on the way down and Castiel walked in. And then again about three seconds later when the elevator passed level 12 and stalled.  

Coincidence?

Or a disturbing product of that terrifying gleam in Gabriel Sexy-Eyebrow’s eyes?


	5. The Eighth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't like small enclosed spaces, Castiel is a little bemused and Dean is good under pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this one, everyone! I'd just like to assure you all that Castiel actually does have a reason beyond what Sam knows for his reactions. He's not just being an ass about this silent treatment! :D

Dean had been discussing – rather plaintively – the possible merits of getting one of the newest trainees to manage the single inbound phone-line that all the complex queries came to(if one could call what they did complex which Sam doubted) when the lift doors slid smoothly open at floor 13 and Castiel stepped into the lift and walked to his usual space. He was wearing a dark suit under his stupid overcoat and looked tired and a little grim.

He made absolutely no reaction at being in the lift with them.

Later Sam would look back on this and see it as his first clue that something was wrong.

But that detail was pushed to the back of his mind first by Dean’s sudden and unnatural silence, and second by the creaking, shuddering halt the lift came to.

There was a pause.

“Dean –“

“Don’t tell me. We’re gonna be late back from lunch.” Dean’s face was tight and shuttered and Sam grimaced.

“It’ll probably start up again soon.”

They waited through a painful couple of minutes. Castiel stared steadily at the doors of the lift, the same way he did every time. Dean looked at the wall. Sam counted seconds with a sort of desperate compulsiveness and managed not to say anything intentionally inflammatory just to break the tension. Like ‘oh hey Castiel, my brother is moping over you so how about you tell him you can speak English and we go back to not talking to each other in the elevator like we always do?’

The lift did not start up again.

“Uh – I’ll try and page it in.” Sam moved to the control panel and held down the call button. He was acutely aware of all the Not Talking going on behind him and nearly let out a sigh of relief when Dean shuffled in his I’m Not Feeling Comfortable But I’m Going To Talk My Way Through It way.

“So – long time no see?”

“I guess it’s only been a few days but you stopped showing up and well I didn’t exactly think we needed to start looking for your picture on milk cartons but –“

“Sammy doesn’t much like enclosed spaces, you know. He’s got it together and he’s even doing all the things I really should be doing as the bigger and more mature one –“

“ _More mature?_ ” Sam said between gritted teeth, pressing the call button again.

“But –“ Dean continued without a pause. “He’s actually not much of a fan of being in spaces like this. So I’m going to talk about some dumb shit to keep his mind off it, hot elevator guy. Feel free to join in or just burn holes through the door with your eyes. That works to – pretty damn helpful if you ask me.”

“Dean, I’m standing right here.”

“So there was this time in school when he was – what were you, Sammy? Nine? Ten? We moved a bit – our dad wasn’t the best at some things…”

“ _A lot of things_.”

“But we settled eventually. And this school was the first we’d been at for more than a few months. And Sam here – you wouldn’t believe it to look at him but he was a shrimp. He was tiny. I was like a giant next to him, not Hagrid, either – like a real big giant. And he’s _such a nerd_. He read _all the time_. I was hooking up, of course, and playing sport and being _cool_. But not Sammy. He read stuff like Cervantes.   _Cervantes_. And he talked me into stealing the school’s mascot uniform so he could joust at windmills or something poetic like that. You were a weird little kid, Sam. So this one day he’s late to school because I had to be at – I was sleeping late or something and he’d missed the bus. So he gets in and everyone’s already in class, right? And he’s heading along to his first classroom when he hears someone making a lot of noise in a closet…”

The call button wasn’t working. Sam could feel a thin trickle of sweat running from his shoulderblades down his spine. The air in the elevator seemed to be getting hotter, thicker perhaps. It seemed a little smaller, too. That was until he realised exactly what story Dean was telling. He spun and pinned his elder brother with a glare that spoke of quick and very very creative vengeance.

 “Dean if you finish this story I will burn your Iron Maiden vinyls.”

Dean grinned, all rough edges and faux innocence. “But Elevator Guy wants to hear it, Sammy!”

“Elevator Guy doesn’t care about my childhood. Why don’t you tell him about that time Uncle Jim found you in the Impala with Benny Lafitte while he was on that working holiday?”

“But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. So he hears these muffled noises from a closet, right? He is a total naïve kid at this age so he thinks someone’s trapped in there and he needs to get them out. I mean I tried to teach him better, but he’s never really listened to me.”

“I’m _standing right here, Dean_.” Sam was almost sure that Dean was not actually going to finish this story. Not after they’d both promised never to speak of it again.

“And he opens the door to the closet and out falls the biggest, barest…”

Sam lunged at Dean and pinned him to the wall of the elevator with a hand across his mouth as Dean made a wide-eyed and broad-grinned and blessedly muffled end to the story. Castiel moved for the first time in any elevator ride in the history of humanity and turned to look at them, a slight crease between his eyes that might have been puzzlement or might have been curiosity or might have been the look of a man stuck in a stalled elevator with two boys trying to kill each other.

Dean pushed Sam away just as the elevator ground to a creaking start once more. Sam felt tension he’d forgotten was there ebb out of his shoulders and caught Dean grinning a little at him.

“You dick, you did that on purpose.”

“Well you stopped thinking about being trapped in here, didn’t you?”

“I’m going to throw out all your munchies and buy carrot sticks for a week.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

The lift doors opened softly at level three and Castiel hesitated a bare second before striding on his way. For that bare – almost-not-there second he met Dean’s suddenly focused gaze and Dean said quite seriously, “I won’t play with the lift buttons if you come up with us tomorrow morning.”

As usual Castiel gave no sign he had heard and simply walked off. But Sam thought that he saw a little less stiffness in that straight broad back than usual, and Dean at least seemed content. If he decided to take the stairs back up to their level and forced Dean to come along, and if Dean for once didn’t complain about the extra exercise – well that, at least, was something neither of them commented on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up - why are there other people in the lift how is this a thing? Bobby gets to do something finally. Gabriel is a sneaky sexy bastard.


	6. The Ninth Time and the Case of Bobby the Security Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets involved and Sam REALLY NEEDS A PHONE FOR HIS JOB GUYS. Some inspiration may be drawn from real life.

Interesting. He’d actually missed this. He’d _missed_ this. Sam was _certain_ he’d ever gone to some dubious lengths to return his brother _to_ this state. Intentionally. Because, it appeared, he was a masochistic idiot who didn’t learn from experience. It was true that he was not a scientist, but even a non-scientist could have learned what happened in this particular situation without having to run the same experiment over and over. If he wasn’t practically qualifying for _sainthood_ right now, he could have been sitting in a quiet car speeding towards work at the last possible moment and drinking a cup of coffee from the local Starbucks instead of trying to dry his hair _in the car_ from where Dean had thrown water over him. Again.

While Dean whistled. Loudly.

Loving Dean, Sam decided, was definitely not in his best interests.

They pulled into the car-park and Dean sauntered over to the lift and leaned against the wall, checking his watch and humming to himself. Sam followed, hissing a little under his breath at the mixture of _dear god this is way too early to be awake_ and _why don’t I have coffee yet_. He hated Bon Jovi. It reminded him of a failed date with a lanky brunette in his last year of high-school where they had made out awkwardly to her over-played Bon Jovi CD and his shirt had gotten caught in her bra just when the CD player decided to repeat _Wanted – Dead or Alive_.

“ _I aint gonna live forever…”_

“I sure hope that’s not true.” Bobby walked up beside them and gave Dean a weird look – something disbelieving and something a little amused, as though he was trying to decide whether seeing a grown man looking like a child about to be let through the gates to Disney Land was a good thing or not. Sam – if he had been consulted – would have told Bobby that it most definitely wasn’t, not when you were running on three hours of sleep and that same five-year-old trapped in an adult’s body had sung classic rock at you all the way down the highway. “Hiya, boys.”

“Morning Bobby,” Dean said cheerily. “How’s life treating you?”

“Can’t complain. Could be dead sooner rather than later.” Bobby shifted his fancy security guard hat on his head and pressed the button for the lift almost exactly at the moment when Dean’s alarm went off oh so quietly in his pocket. “How’s the fishing been? Caught anything lately?”

“I haven’t had much of a chance,” Dean raised an eyebrow but apparently wasn’t quite five-year-old enough to straight out say _why are you coming in the lift with us, Uncle Bobby_. “We’ve had a busy few weeks, haven’t we Sammy?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been tuning the car up – she’s pretty near perfect but I don’t want to risk anything going wrong with that beautiful motor of hers. Sam’s been studying away like he’s afraid he’s going to forget everything before he’s even learned it.”

“She’s a beautiful car,” Bobby agreed solemnly.

Everyone nodded, able to agree that yes – yes, the Impala was very pretty. And yes, Sam had been studying. And yes, Dean had spent most of the last week listening to angry music and poking around in his car, signs of a very bad no good rotten mood. So now they were all caught up could everyone shut up and let him appreciate a silent world before his world had coffee and spreadsheets in it?

The lift opened. Dean and Sam got in, followed by Bobby. This surprised Sam no matter how obvious it had appeared that Bobby had been intending on riding the lift with them. Somehow the early lift to floor 13 and beyond had come to be a space that belonged to him and Dean and the Odd Lithuanian In the Bad Coat Who Made Strange Courting Choices. Why they now included a stocky, balding security guard with a gruff soft spot for older brothers and their dumb cars, Sam just couldn’t figure out.

Maybe it was the early morning.

The lift went up. Ding. It stopped and Castiel got in. He ooked at Bobby for a moment more than he really needed to. Sam wasn’t even sure how he had noticed this, it just seemed _important_. Then he went to his usual spot, turned and face the door and was still. Dean glanced at him. Bobby looked at everyone in turn, then sighed softly.

“So how’re you boys enjoying the jobs? Exciting stuff happening for you yet?”

“Brilliantly exciting,” Sam said. “I got to print off letters and put them in envelopes yesterday.”

“Were they important letters?”

“They were letters to tell the clients that we’d sent them letters to tell them something that was mildly important and now we’re sending them letters to tell them about the other letters.”

There was a small pause. Dean looked at Castiel. Bobby looked at Sam. Sam looked at his feet. Castiel looked somewhere – probably the doors because by Sam’s estimation he was in love with them and wanted to marry them seeing as he gave them the entirety of his attention _always_.

“Right.”

“I got a new chair,” Dean said helpfully. “It swivels better. And Sam’s request for a phone is going to be authorised any day now, isn’t it Sammy?”

“I _need a phone to do my job_.”

“They said it was too expensive to order him in one so for now he has to call clients from Kenny’s computer which is five pods away. It’s kinda hilarious actually.”

“I have to run back and forth every time they ask a question!”

“If you had a new chair,” Dean said solemnly. “You could roll your way back and forth instead. This is why I’m the eldest. I plan.”

“You boys will forgive my commenting,” Bobby said. “But your job is balls, isn’t it?”

Sam looked at Bobby, Dean looked at Castiel, Castiel looked at the door. The door opened at level thirteen and Castiel got out and walked off into the weird and mysterious depths of the Lithuanian Embassy. Dean sighed.

“Yes, it really is, Bobby,” Sam said. “It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time expect Dean's phrasebook to make an appearance as well as a little more about Gabriel and a little more about the mysterious Mug of Chuck. Thanks for reading and thank you so much to everyone who comments - I love hearing theories on how this is going to turn out.


	7. The Mysterious Mug of Chuck and the Tenth Time (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zachariah is a dick and Star Wars is discussed. Sam attempts to understand the mysteries of the Mug of Chuck. More lift shenanigans. As before, much of the office hoo ha is drawn from real life and exaggerated only slightly.

“We _leave_ in ten minutes, Zach.”

“Yeah?” Zachariah, genially known among the team as Asshat when he wasn’t around, looked up from his e-mails and smiled blandly. “Well good for you, Winchester Two.”

“ _Everyone_ in our team leaves in ten minutes. That’s the _end of our shift_.”

“And we’re all proud that you’ve learned how to tell time, big boy. Any reason you’ve decided to share the minutae of your life with me?”

“You just sent us an email telling us that there’s twenty-three cases to be coded that need to be done before the end of the day. Five minutes ago.”

“I am putting ‘reading comprehension’ on your ‘skills to be proud of’ for your performance review. Excellent.”

Dean had moved over to sit at Victor’s desk, since he’d clocked out an hour ago. He swivelled and looked at Zach with the kind of flat dislike that had been reserved for bullies, teachers who criticised their home life and automechanics who thought that they were qualified to touch his car. “Sammy, c’mon,” he said. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Don’t log any calls from Hendrickson’s phone, Winchester One,” Zach said, flapped a hand, grinned and went back to his e-mail. “And don’t eat cookies at your desk.”

Sam walked carefully back to his desk, only half listening to Dean muttering about the unconstitutional restrictions of a man’s access to cookies when cookies were obviously God’s own gift to America. If he counted through prime numbers in his head, Sam found that he could achieve a state of calmness that would last him through however long it would take them to complete the rest of the coding for the day. Even when they were the last ones left in the office except for Zachariah the Douchebag and even _he_ was only there answering personal e-mails.

“You take eleven, I’ll take the top twelve and we’ll be home in time for I dreamed of Jeanie,” he said, and hoped that it sounded even slightly convincing.

Dean nodded. He had Chuck’s mug again and was sipping from it distractedly as he bent and folded what looked like it wanted to become a paper airplane but was being stubbornly forced into a totally different shape altogether. “Sure thing, Sammy boy. Then we’ll even make it to the lifts before Ms Talbot finds us some extra special filing to do that might just save the world from the Death Star.”

“I get to be Han Solo this time.”

“ _Please_. I’m _totally_ Han Solo. You can be Mr I Kissed My Sister Skywalker.”

“Why do you always get to be Solo? And ‘I’m older’ is _not_ a reason anymore!”

“Right,” Dean swivelled in a full circle and then propped his feet up on the desk. “Firstly, Baby is the Falcon, the Falcon is Baby. Natch. Secondly – you would never shoot first. I would. Thirdly – I’m not the one who wanted to be Harry Potter when he grew up, fourthly and finally – I would look _much_ better frozen in carbonite.”

“Screw you.” Sam scowled and pretened to be focusing on his work instead of saying ‘ _I’m not the country boy who wants to leave his hometown and escape to the wide world to make a name for himself while dealing with daddy issues and a big brother who’s always swooping in to assist him in an idiotically distinctive vehicle’_ because once he’d formed the sentence in his mind one or two things felt a bit obvious about it. Dean smirked at him and sipped his coffee again.

“Why _do_ you steal Chuck’s mug all the time, Dean? He gets really upset about it.”

“Huh?” Dean blinked and frowned a little. “Really? I didn’t think he minded all that much.”

“He spent last week making little ‘Have You Seen This Mug’ posters.”

“I thought he was kidding!”

“He sent three e-mails about it a day.”

“I’m not even on his mailing list!”

“Dude.”

Dean sighed and frowned, twisting the cup back and forth in front of him. “I dunno. I love Lucy?”

“Stop taking it from his desk and hiding it behind the fruit bowls in the break room, okay?”

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re the only one who ever looks there?’

“Okay?”

“Yeah yeah. Keep your hair on, Roma Downey.”

Sam frowned, tried to remember who the hell _that_ was, then gave up. It had been far too long and stressful a day to try to keep up with Dean’s photographic memory for actor’s names and faces. There was work to do and excel spreadsheet cells to colour.

\----

Some time later they had booted down their workstations, piled all their scrap paper into the shredder bins located around the office and collected their personal belongings from their lockers. Sam was ready for food, bad terrible awful TV and then bed in that specific order. It was at least an hour after their shift ended and they weren’t allowed to claim overtime unless it was prearranged by the company, so that was yet another thing to change when he finally became President and ruled the world. America. Both.

Dean had put Chuck’s cup back where it belonged and was now scuffing his heels to some internal rhythm, his fingers tapping against his pockets and his eyes slightly unfocused the way he got when he was puzzling something important out.

The lift opened. They got in. It went down. At level thirteen the doors opened and Sam found that he was surprisingly unsurprised when Castiel entered and took up his usual spot against the wall. Dean brightened, the tight weariness that his customary smirk did nothing to hide fading a little at the sight of his favorite Lithuanian Coat Wearing Dork.

“Hey – Hot Elevator Guy! Fancy seeing you this late.”

“We are not going to start leaving the office at 6pm after starting at 8am every day so you can get a double dose of Hot Elevator Guy, Dean.”

“I made you call him Hot Elevator Guy. You buy me beer for a week.”

“ _Goddammit_.”

It was at that moment, that moment _exactly_ when the elevator stalled. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've had a vote for the Cas side of the story so I'm definitely going to do that. I may also do a mash-up of Dean and Gabriel, we'll see how things progress. I'm sorry this isn't longer. I'm writing it late after work and I'm super super tired. I did intend to have the whole tenth incident in this chapter but it looks like it will just have to be next time!


	8. The Tenth Part Two and the Eleventh Time and How to say Hello in Lithuanian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is a dick, Sam is annoyed, Dean is concerned and Castiel is a little bit charmed. Just a little.

**The Tenth Time**

“I’m not kidding,” Sam said calmly into the intercom. “I will find out where your office is and I will break every piece of equipment you have.”

“Easy, Rambo.”

“This is the second time in three days, Dean!”

“Whoa now there, Norman Bates, the elevator hasn’t stalled to personally spite you!”

The intercom crackled, spat and then ran a band of static for a few moments.

“Hello Elevator 5.”

“ _Oh you dick_ ,” Sam hissed, all the prickling _tension_ that was flooding his system spiking to absolute fury. “ _You evil psychopathic bastard_.”

”Uh. Don’t hold back there, Sammy.”

Sam could hear the spike of concern in Dean’s voice, heard him shift and move behind him. “How about you pay attention to your elevator conquest and let me handle the intercom, Dean.”

“He’s not a _conquest_ , dude, _lame_.”

That was capitulation, at least for now. Dean _listened_ when he really needed him to, and right now Sam knew that if his brother tried to calm him down he was going to burst apart. He turned his attention back on the little speaker set into the side of the elevator. The little, circular speaker hiding the Machiavellian mind of the apparently _insane_ Gabriel Of The Lithuanian Embassy. Perhaps it was to off-balance his sexy eyebrows. Could a man really expect someone with so perfect a – uh – aesthetic – to be without flaws? Maybe not, Sam decided, but there were flaws and there was _trapping him in an enclosed space while his brother flirted with a guy who wouldn’t talk to him_.

“What seems to be the problem?” the speaker said, a definite smirk in the slightly tinny tones of Gabriel’s voice.

“You know _damn well_ what the problem is,” Sam said, lowering his voice to as close to a whisper as he could get. “Why is the lift stalled? Why are you doing this to me? _Get me out of here._ ”

“Ah, so your lift is stalled. We’re terribly sorry. How could this possibly happen? Don’t panic – a crack team of engineers is working on the problem as we speak.” A slight pause, and Sam was acutely aware of how much he wanted Castiel and Dean to _not_ be listening to this. “I’m sure I could convince them to work a great deal faster if you were to promise to not destroy all their equipment in a rage-fit, Jolly Green.”

“Don’t _tempt me_.”

“In fact, I think you should come by tomorrow and apologise to them.”

“To them, huh? These engineers want an apology?”

“They are very sensitive, talented people, sir. They do not appreciate threats.”

“I see.” Sam forced a smile that felt like a grimace. “What time would the like to get this apology?”

“Noon would work well for them.”

“Fine.”

“Wonderful. Have a lovely day, sir.”

The intercom crackled, spat and cut out. Sam snarled at it wordlessly before spinning around and jabbing a finger at Dean. “Not a _word_ out of you!”

“Like hell! Did he just…”

“ _Dean_. Not. A. _word._ ”

And though he knew damn well that Dean was not going to let this go, and if he wasn’t very lucky was going to expend his considerable creative diabolical inventiveness on trying to find out just _who_ had been behind the intercom, his big brother frowned and nodded because when he really needed him to – Dean listened. “You know – I’ve been reading up about Lithuania. Did you know that Lithuanian is older than Greek as a language?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah – it’s really cool. It’s possibly as old as Sanskrit.”

“Do you know what Sanskrit _is_ , Dean?”

“Of course I do.” Dean grinned, bright and bold and ridiculous – and it was enough to uncoil a little of the anxiety in his stomach. “It’s – wiggly.”

“Wiggly.”

“Yeah, like worms wrote it.” Dean nudged his shoulder and thrust a fist out towards Castiel. He let a twisted bit of paper fall and Castiel caught it with a flick of one wrist and looked at it in some bemusement as for the very very first time Dean left the lift first.

“Was that a…?”

“Shut up, dude.” Dean grinned and ruffled his hair, and Sam decided that if he didn’t want Dean to ask about Mr Sexy Evil Intercom Guy then Sam would have to just ignore the fact that Dean had just given Castiel a paper stork.

 

**The Eleventh Time**

“Labas.”

“Huh?”

“La- _bas_.”

“Labas?”

“ _La_ bas.”

Sam stared at his brother as they got into the lift. “What on earth are you saying?”

“It’s Lithuanian for hello. I got a phrase book.”

“You – what?”

“Mano laivas  su oro pagalve pilnas unguru.”

Oh dear _god._ “My hovercraft is full of eels?”

“You bet.”

“I dare you to say that to elevator guy.”

“ _Hot_ elevator guy.”

“You’re not getting more beer out of me that easily.”

The doors opened. Dean beamed at Castiel, who was wearing a blue shirt and jeans today. “ _La-_ bas.”

“Labas rytas,” Castiel said solemnly, taking his place in the corner.

“Oh my god, dude, you talked to me!” Dean turned to Sam. “He talked to me!”

“Yes, Dean, he did.”

“He talked to me, Sammy!”

“Yes, Dean, and somewhere in the world pigs are flying. Give it a rest, will you.”

“He _talked_ to me!”

“No one else cares if hot elevator guy talks to you, Dean!” Sam paused – frowned and then facepalmed. “ _Dammit_.”

“Ha!” Dean grinned and turned back to Castiel. “Carp sakasi?”

Castiel stared at him, eyes narrowed in apparent concentration.

“Crap!” Dean pulled out a shiny little book and leafed through it. “Carp – Cape – Kaip – Kaip Sekasi!”

The lift doors opened. Castiel got off. The lift doors closed.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your comments! It's really keeping me on track with this story and we're very near the climax at this point. Next time is going to be explosive! No hints!! :D Enjoy.


	9. The Twlefth Time - Or A Guide on Elevator Safety Fails 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam does not approve of Gabriel's warning skills, Dean does not approve of Gabriel, Castiel is over being stuck in lifts and takes action. Literally.

_SamW: You promised you wouldn’t do this to me again!_

_SexyEyebrows: No I didn’t._

_SamW: You did! You did or I would never have stepped in the lifts this evening you bastard._

_SexyEyebrows: I only promised that I would ensure you were properly prepared. Which I did. It’s not my fault you can’t take a hint._

_SamW: A text message with a frowny face and N=mg is not a warning, it’s a mark on my physics exam!_

_SexyEyebrows: It’s not my fault you don’t recognise the equation for an elevator at rest._

_SamW: I hate you._

_SexyEyebrows: That’s not what your hand on my ass yesterday gave me to believe, Mr Winchester._

“Sammy?”

Sam looked up with a snarl on his face and was a little mollified when Dean took a whole step back and raised both hands. “ _What_.”

“Uh. You’re kinda jabbing your phone as though you want to kill it, dude. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sam let out a long breath and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Some of his anxiety was alleviated by knowing that Gabriel was the one mysteriously commanding the lifts to their unscheduled stops, but he still felt as though his skin was crawling. “Seriously. Go back to trying to communicate with Rain Man there or something.”

“Just because he doesn’t speak English doesn’t mean you get to make fun of him,” Dean said, nudging him. “Did you even pass your sensitivity training?”

“Like you even know what sensitivity training is, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Go on, I’m dealing. Just – try not to do anything too disgusting, I’m nauseated enough as it is.”

Dean gave him another long look but seemed to accept that he wasn’t helping by standing there and shifting from foot to foot. He turned back to Castiel, who was in his usual corner as usual. Sam was beginning to put serious weight on his crack theory that Castiel was actually a Lithuanian robot and was pretending not to speak English so he wouldn’t have to reveal to Dean that he wasn’t human. There were probably international laws in place to stop countries planting robots in other countries.

“Koks jusu vardas?” Dean said slowly, pholding his phrasebook a couple of inches from his face and taking short cautious glances at Castiel over the top of it. “Mano vardas Dean – hey there’s nothing in here to translate ‘ _but you can call me anything you like, baby_. This is such a rip off!”

Castiel looked at Dean, his brows drawn down into a frown. Then he looked at the intercom, at the doors to the lift and finally at Sam who was leaning against his own personal corner and counting through prime numbers to try to keep his breathing calm and regulated. Castiel tilted his head to one side as Dean repeated himself even more slowly and laboriously, nodded, then – for the first time in what felt like living memory – stepped out of his corner for a reason _other_ than leaving the lift.

Dean fell silent. Sam stopped counting and promptly lost his place.

Castiel moved to the centre of the lift and opened his briefcase, removing several slender rods which he manipulated too fast for Sam to really catch what he was doing until there was a miniature stepladder suddenly in the lift with them and Dean’s mouth had dropped open. Castiel climbed the ladder with a sort of studied deliberation, reached into his pocket, drew out a thin implement which he inserted between the roof of the lift and the edge of the emergency hatch – and _manipulated_ something. There was a pause during which everyone said nothing in a very loud sort of way. The emergency hatch fell open with a thud.

“Atsiprasau,” Castiel said calmly, and left the elevator.

Sam felt a sudden mad urge to laugh.

“He’s…” Dean swallowed and looked as though he were trying manfully to come up with some sort of rational explanation for what had just happened. “He’s not really meant to do that, is he? I mean – the emergency hatch is usually bolted on the outside, right? So people don’t climb out and get killed or something?” He moved over to the ladder and climbed up it very slowly, peeked out the top, paused, then came just as slowly back down. Sam noted that he was a shade paler than usual. “He’s – _climbing up the elevator shaft_.”

“I’m never riding an elevator again,” Sam said, and found he had never meant anything in his life quite as fervently as this.

“He’s _climbing the elevator shaft, Sammy_.”

Sam felt his phone buzz and ignored it. “I heard you the first time, Dean.”

“Why are you not more freaked out by this?”

“There are too many things to be freaked out about in this situation! I’m having to rank them in order of prioritisation!”

Sam’s phone buzzed again.

The intercom crackled. “Elevator Three?”

When Sam made no move to answer it because _god knew_ that he wasn’t in any state to talk to Gabriel – the mind-warpingly sassy and ridiculously sneaky Lithuanian embassy worker with the bizarre control over elevators, Dean moved to the control pad and depressed the speaker button.

“You guys fixed our elevator yet?”

“Not – _quite_ – yet, sir. I think we are almost at a solution for our problem. Is everyone in the elevator all right? Some of our monitors seem to have picked up an early departure from the –“

“How about you concentrate on doing your job, dickwad. I haven’t forgotten what you did to Sam the last time and if you think I’m letting you get away with blackmailing him into whatever the fuck you blackmailed him into, then you are a couple of beatings away from learning a very pointed lesson about messing with my brother.”

“Threats are hardly the most professional way to deal with this situation, sir, might I…”

There was a sudden noise and then Castiel’s steady, calm voice. “Gabrielius, aš žinau, jūs esate čia.”

“Castiel! What are – never mind. Just – okay guys give us a minute please – uh…”

A crackle of static, then a clatter and a sqwark of protest.

“Ar manote, kad tai juokinga?” Castiel said, and Sam looked blankly at Dean who seemed to be mashing buttons on his phone at an alarming rate. “Ką aš noriu pasakyti , žinoma, jūs padaryti . O tu žaidi žaidimus su mano gyvenimą, aš bandau daryti savo darbą , o ne gauti bet kas nužudė tiek atgal išjungti. Tai visiškai savo verslą , ar aš kalbėti su šiuo žmogumi , ar ne , ir man nereikia jums matchmake mane . Ar man reikia pasakyti savo brolį , kiek jūs seiletis per jį ? Nes aš.” 

There was a long long pause and Gabriel said something muffled.  

“Aš mano viršelio istoriją rimtai.” The speaker crackled again and popped and then was silent.

Three seconds later (Sam knew. He counted. He couldn’t think of anything else to do _but_ count) the elevator started moving again. Once it reached the carpark Sam bolted out the door and stood in the very middle of the largest spot he could find and shook himself all over.  “ _What the fuck was that?”_

“Finally joining the party, Sammy.” Dean sauntered out more slowly, frowning at his phone. “I couldn’t pick up most of that. Something about this dude thinking things were a joke and games and not wanting to be matchmade. And then the last thing he said – I got all of that. The last thing he said was _I take my cover story seriously_.” Dean’s face was set into a dangerously serious expression. “What the hell do you suppose that means?”

 Sam didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He said so loudly, perhaps more loudly than was really necessary, and Dean stopped looking so serious and thoughtful and instead smiled crookedly and drove him to his favourite restaurant for takeaways which they ate somewhere large and outdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to anyone who can speak Lithuanian. I tried to get a friend to get her flatmates to translate Cas's speech for me, but unfortunately she didn't get back to me in time and I thought you'd prefer having a chapter to read even with an awful translation. :)
> 
> Dean is asking for Cas's name and telling him his own in the first bit. Cas's speech is intended to go like this:   
> Gabriel, I know you are in here.
> 
> Do you think this is funny? What am I saying, of course you do. While you are playing games with my life, I am trying to do my job and not get anyone killed so back off. It is entirely my own business whether I talk to this man or not and I do not need you to matchmake me. Do I need to tell his brother how much you drool over him? Because I will. 
> 
> I take my cover story seriously. 
> 
> Next chapter - revelations! :D


	10. The First and Second Times - Now In Lithuanian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why didn't Castiel say anything that first time in the elevator?

**Alpha**  

0545\. Three days with no sleep and coming hard onto the heels of the fourth. The sounds of the subway were thick, muted. Ringing. He got off three stops early and walked, clipped long strides – checking his blinds spots easily, automatically. Three microchips in his briefcase lining, two broken ribs, one unnecessary explosion that had gotten far too close.  

Fine tremors. Blood sugar bottoming out by now. The sooner he got to the office and made his report the better.

He flashed his security pass, stepped into the foyer and called the lift. The doors took fifteen and a half seconds to open. There were two men inside. He took the strategic position – two walls at his back, directional line out the doors should the open early. Both men potential threats simply based on physical strength, dressed in office gear and giving off non-confrontational vibes. No obvious weaponry. No obvious aggressive body language.  

There was a muted hum of conversation. Castiel assumed he had interrupted something – probably a discussion of the psychological experimentation temporary office workers tended to undergo on level 17. He looked at the doors of the elevator, narrowed his focus and allowed himself to feel tired.

It would only be later, after he had reported to Michael over the last mission and his unfortunate need to recourse to explosives to escape with the microchips that Castiel would even consider that perhaps someone in the lift might have been talking to him. This thought seemed to be the epitome of madness – or sleep deprivation – so he took the rest of the day off.  

**Beta**

Castiel didn’t think about the two men again until the next morning as he stepped into the lift and found Mr Tall With The Hair and Mr I Have Prettier Lips Than A Girl already inside. The second was exponentially more attractive now that Castiel was not struggling with a slight concussion and a severe lack of sleep or food.  

Perhaps it would be polite to apologise for not acknowledging them the previous day. Did people acknowledge each other in lifts? Was that usual practice? Socially acceptable? Castiel recalled vaguely the impression that people ignored each other in lifts unless forced to do otherwise and felt distinctly unprepared for whatever sort of societal test this was. Perhaps he really should start seeing people outside of work. It appeared that when the context was neither seduction, negotiation nor assassination he was somewhat at a loss.  He had just decided to look at Pretty Lips and ask after his weekend (which was surely appropriate even though this was Wednesday and as such it seemed unlikely that any beneficial effects of the recuperative qualities of the weekend were still lingering) when Pretty Lips nudged Tall With Hair and said _Dude – check out his tie. I told you – gentleman spy chic._  

Castiel thought in that second of thirty nine different ways to kill these two men and hide their bodies.

He filtered the rest of the conversation blandly, looking straight ahead. Basic implied attraction, attempts to infer that the pretty one doesn’t think I can understand him – logically improbably as even at an ‘embassy’ an office worker would be expected to speak English – a fake fight. Perhaps an attempt to see if he had noted their proximity. He had.  

Thirty-nine climbed steeply to fifty-three. And a half.

 It was only the knowledge that the company did not approve of ‘action’ being taken on premises that enabled Castiel to leave the lift calmly and steadily as though nothing had happened. He heard Pretty Lips say something about his hips – filed it under ‘inappropriate innuendo’ and went to his office to hack into the files of the personnel currently on staff to _Bright Horizons Inc_. Mr and Mr Winchester had officially become persons of interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is WAY too short guys. I'm so sorry. I promise thy're not all gonna be this short. I have just had a really long and mostly really stressful and awful day and I wanted to let you guys in on the biggest twist of the story so far - i.e. why Cas has been silent this whole time!!! I hope you enjoy and I promise longer chapters next time. We're going to see the first 12 rides from Cas's POV and a little about the 'Lithuanian Embassy' and Gabriel before the two sides meet in ride thirteen.


	11. The Third Time In Lithuanian and Castiel's Obsessive Need to Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel researches the Winchesters and spends an excessive amount of time over-analysing their conversations. Also - the Mug of Chuck.

**Charlie**

Records on the ‘Winchester Brothers’ as they were registered at  _ Bright Horizons Inc _ , were slim. Samuel Winchester ( _ tall with hair _ ) - 22 years of age - registered student at Stanford University. Working at Bright Horizons during his summer break. Previous to Stanford his academic history was spotty but promising and spanned 17 states. Dean Winchester ( _ pretty lips _ ) - 26 years of age - college drop-out with an abortive history in the military that had come to an abrupt halt with a General discharge under honorable conditions after a year and a half of service due to something that had been phrased vaguely as  _ physiological unfitness _ after a mission went south and injuries had been sustained. Bobby from security had mentioned that Mr Dean Winchester had chatted to him about vehicles on more than one occasion and had mentioned that the brothers had plans for PL to start his own mechanic workshop after TWH had graduated law school. 

Family history was a little more telling. An absentee father who had served in the marines and had not been on any tax or governmental records for a good 6 years and a mother who had been murdered by a serial arsonist during the brothers’ childhood. It seemed that after the death of the mother, the father had initially taken his sons on a round-trip of America, hunting down leads to the arsonist and others of his ilk before getting in trouble with enough of the authorities that his children had been left with a family friend when TWH was 14. By this point from the various school records and administrative documentation, the brothers had been living mostly on their own anyway. The story was a little too pat, a little too tailored to please. Castiel could tell that any employer or acquaintance who came into possession of these facts would be inclined to look a little kindly upon the Winchesters with their height and strength and their bright attractive smiles.

There were no obvious indicators of hostile influence or contact from known enemy or alien organisations, but that wouldn’t get picked up until they had made a more thorough and complete investigation. It was early morning before Castiel was finished with his initial investigation (including the investigation of the  _ Bright Horizon Inc _ offices and installation of surveillance in several key places including the  _ I Love Lucy _ mug being used by a  _ Bright Horizon _ employee who had links to the sciences department. He had barely enough time to change and gather together his suitcase before walking around the block exactly three times so that he could appear to enter the building (and the lift) in synchronisation with the two young marks. Gabriel did not  _ entirely _ believe him that there was a problem, but any indication that the cover of the ‘embassy’ might have been blown would need to have serious attention paid to it, so the higher-ups were letting him handle this himself. 

Mr and Mr Winchester wanted to play games? Then it was time for him to move his pawn and hope that they were not attempting a  _ Fool’s Mate _ . 

The initial ride was silent. PL was staring at him, but TWH was pretending a fascination with his cellphone that was a little too earnest to be real. PL was at least being open about his overt interest, which meant that Castiel had maneuvered himself to keep TWH in his peripheral vision. If they were trying to distract and decoy this early then they might already have some sort of aggression planned and he was too tired and too sore from the explosions several days ago to allow himself to get caught off-guard.  

“Maybe I could learn Lithuanian,” PL said slowly. 

“Lithuanian.” TWH glanced up only briefly from his cellphone, no doubt trying to estimate how much attention Castiel was paying to his surroundings. 

“Yeah - don’t sound so dubious, Sammy boy. I could learn a language.”

“Sure.” Another glance from TWH. “Sure you could, but why? And who would teach you?”

This could not be a real conversation between real people. Castiel knew that his personal social skills were lacking, but he refused to believe that ‘normal people’ talked like this - especially in front of the person they were discussing. It had to be some sort of code - or a  _ trap _ perhaps. He moved his hand very slowly in his pocket to turn up the volume of his recording device. Perhaps the analyses team would be able to deduce what these two were talking about, he himself had never been particularly good at codes and cyphers. 

“... _ How hard could it be to learn ‘Hello’?” _

Improbably hard. Depending on the culture, the accent, the pronunciation, the need to be accepted as a local versus a tourist versus a completely different culture. Incredibly, improbably, unbelievably hard. Would they know that already? 

“Don’t you mean, “Please go out with me because I am ridiculously obsessed with you?”

That from TWH who shot another look at Castiel. Were they really attempting a dual intimidation and honeypot mission on top of everything else? He wasn’t sure whether to be slightly impressed at their balls or insulted that they thought such cheap tricks would work on him. 

Castiel took a moment to let the brothers’ voices wash over him and instead watched them as carefully as he could without looking directly at them, watching the way their body language mirrored each other - the repressed energy in PL as he lounged against the wall, the coiled nature of TWH - his awkward height that quite possibly was used to cover an unexpected capability. They were well matched. Castiel could see that. If they were not actually brothers, then they had worked together long enough and well enough to create a convincing facimile.

“...say ‘ _ your mother knites reindeer sweaters _ ’?”

Castiel almost looked directly at TWH to see what his expression was saying about  _ that _ statement. It was so obviously one of the worse types of code-phrases that it was impressive they had managed to make it sound as natural as they had. What did it mean, though? Were they wearing wires? Were they being bugged? Was it meant to indicate to some unknown listener that their plan was working - or  _ not _ working? 

“What?” PL said, just like anyone might had someone said the words ‘reindeer sweaters’ to them. 

“It could happen.”

“You’re a dork, Sammy.”

An admirable effort. Castiel left the lift at his usual pace with his usual blank expression, even though he was aware of their eyes on his back and his left hand was grasping the butt of his gun. More investigation was required. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I am exctremely sorry for the long wait everyone. I have been swamped with work, trying to complete my novel (46,000 words and another 30-odd to go!) and working on the show (which is now going to be filmed by us as a miniseries, yay!) to even think about fanfiction. However, those of you who have been leaving kudos and commenting have kept the story in my mind and I want to try to get this baby finished. For those who asked last time - YES THIS IS A SPY AU!!! And yes, the experiments on floor 17 is a reference to the office where Dean and Sam work. It's a long story and we'll get there. Cas's chapters will fluctuate a bit in size as I try to expand on his actions, his thoughts and not to too much repetition of what happened from Sam's point of view. Next time we'll get to see a bit of Gabriel and Cas's relationship as well as why Cas talked to Sam at all about what was going on!


	12. The Fourth Time During an Lithuanian Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Gabriel discuss his newfound.... interest.... in the temps from upstairs.

_ I’m trying to finish this e-mail...whirrrrrrrclick...Look, Sammy….. Whiiiiirrrrr click click…. Dear god….. Even hotter with the coat…. Whirrrrrr…. I’ll tell Hot Elevator Guy about your crush on Ricky Martin…. Whirrrrrr click click…. Even hotter with the coat off…. Whirrr…. Your elevator boyfriend…. Your elevator boyfriend…. Your elevator boyfriend…. Your elevator boyfriend… _

“I’m staging an intervention,” Gabriel said, picking up Castiel’s voice-recorder and stopping the playback. He did it deftly enough that Castiel had only just reached into his pocket for his gun by the time the voice recorder was battery-less and stored in Gabriel’s briefcase. “Put the gun away and calm down, you’ve been listening to this audio file for three hours.”

“Has it been that long?” Castiel eyed Gabriel. “I will discuss with Joshua your confiscation of technology that Gadreel’s department has officially issued to my remit if you don’t give that back within the next ten minutes.”

Gabriel smiled. Things were never good when Gabriel smiled. Sometimes it meant he was planning on toppling third-world governments for his own amusement. Sometimes it meant that he had seen something he disapproved of and was about to do something violent and ironic in ways only he understood and Michael would struggle to cover up later. Sometimes it meant that he was planning on making Castiel’s life difficult. “When was the last time you slept for more than three hours, Castiel?”

“If you have come in here to discuss my personal wellbeing, might I remind you that we have an office for that and I could as easily discuss any issues with Lucifer.”

“I’m saying you’re over-thinking. Shock. Surprise. Not a thing you have ever done in the history of your employment. Like Taiwan, June 2012…”

“That was a legitimate miscalculation.”

“That was a beautiful disaster which I remain incredibly proud of.”

“The concerns about the Winchester Brothers…”

“I hear the current codename in Charlie’s system is ‘ _ A Personnel Lawsuit Waiting to Happen _ ’.” Gabriel showed all his teeth and tossed Castiel’s gun from his left hand into his bag without looking. In that moment Castiel remembered why he frequently hated Gabriel. 

“If our cover has been blown we need to know about it.” The only way to deal with Gabriel on the warpath was to continue repeating oneself until he got bored and went away. “Michael agrees with me, as does Annael.”

“Michael agreed that they needed investigating. We’ve investigated them.” Gabriel leaned forwards and tapped Castiel’s nose gently. “Big news, kiddo, they’re clean. They’re cleaner than Windex or Mr Muscle or Dove Soap. They’re so clean that if you threw them in a swimming pool they would create suds. Jim…” the use of his American registered name caught Castiel’s attention and he frowned a little. “Jim, they’re a couple of temps from the 17th floor and the big stupid one is hitting on you. And you need to get some sleep because you haven’t slept since Georgia blew up on you.”

None of this made any sense, but Castiel couldn’t argue that this might be because it was his seventh day on little sleep. The fact that Gabriel now had his cellphone and was using it to text a message to everyone that he was a. Gay, b. Not wearing underwear and c. leaving for the day was proof positive that he needed to at least get some rest. Perhaps everything would look more logical in the morning.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather short and sweet folks, huge apologies - but the visit of Sam to the 'ambassy' is going to be hilaaaarious and mention a lot of spy stuff (I think, I haven't written it yet so it might turn out different to the way I think it will). Hope you enjoy and thank you thank you thank you thank you to everyone who commented, you are all amazing and I am enjoying this story so much!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fanfiction so many thanks for dropping by to check it out! Obviously I don't own anything of value or I would have managed to get my novels published by now and I wouldn't still be working in crappy office jobs. I'm planning a series of unrelated shorts based on prompts that fall generally into the themes of the 21 Major Arcana of the Tarot deck. It's partially as a way to get into the heads of the characters as my group of insane friends and I are prepping a Supernatural Musical mini series (super exciting!)
> 
> If you want to make suggestions for future fics either related to worlds some of these shorts dip into or for other Major Arcana places in this series, feel free to ask! Or if you have any prompts, I'm always up to write oneshots!


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